


Suits Me Fine

by Omni



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crushes, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Suits, fashion designer Derek, software programmer stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omni/pseuds/Omni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is an up-and-coming suit designer trying to run his exclusive shop that barely sees one customer a week.  But when a shoddily-dressed weirdo (who has a distractingly gorgeous face) happens in one day to place an order, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So a Muse Walks into a Suit Shop...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhoNatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/gifts).



> Tags will be updated as more chapters are added. The rating will probably change, as well. Yeah.
> 
> This evolved out of my attempt to fulfill the following prompt from [howlnatural](http://howlnatural.tumblr.com)/[wordswrittenovercoffee](http://wordswrittenovercoffee.tumblr.com) a looooooooooooong time ago:
> 
>  
> 
> _PROMPT: (this comes from my fic wish list but I think you'd nail it because pining!Derek) Derek is one of those personal shopper/stylists in a high-end menswear department (he has little interest in fashion but he's pretty enough to wear the nice clothes and it's like free advertisement for the store) and Stiles is the customer who, for some reason seems to have an excuse to come back like once a week for new clothes. Derek doesn't mind though, since the guy's butt alone would make angels weep._
> 
>  
> 
> It is not at all what she is asking for though. Well, I mean, aside from there being menswear and Stiles will be finding ways to keep dropping by. And Derek _does_ find Stiles' butt to be something that would make angels weep. But, Derek knows about fashion, because he is a fashion designer. So...um...yeah...totally different. Anyway, here we go.

l’Echec du Loup did not have a bell above its door, nor did it have a little mechanical “ding” to alert the staff of the arrival of a new customer. It was too high-end for such a tacky system. No, the shop was quiet but for the low, unobtrusive classical music piped through its hidden speakers. The door was well-oiled and opened smoothly and silently when patrons entered or left. So, Derek was quite unprepared when he turned away from the display he was straightening and practically ran right into someone.

“Whoa there, sorry!” the customer immediately cried, voice far too loud in the tranquil store. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya like that.” 

The hand that had come up to steady Derek was long and thin, and Derek’s eyes tracked up from it to an arm of lithe muscle. “It’s not a problem, sir,” Derek was quick to assure, before finally looking up into the man’s face and feeling all other words crash and burn on his tongue. 

A charmingly upturned nose wrinkled in distaste, before a smile broke out on the guy’s face that accentuated high cheekbones and good god was this man an elf from _Lord of the_ fucking _Rings_ , what the shit was going on. “Totally weird to be called ‘sir,’ man. Stiles is just fine,” the customer said, grinning all wide and sharp and mischievous. Not from _Lord of the Rings_ , then, but something else where elves were evil tricksters of seduction and magic. Sidhe? Were the sidhe like that? Wait, there was some other type of elven thing…

He was distracted from his elvish musings by the sight of the customer’s shirt. It was threadbare and stretched out and bore the faded, peeling lettering of the words “Free Breathalyzer Test” complete with an arrow pointing towards his crotch. Then there were his _jeans_. Derek was willing to bet that he had shoelaces in his shop that were worth more than those tattered old jeans. It _would_ be just Derek’s luck that his first new customer in over a week was just some college frat boy who probably got lost.

“Um. Dude?” Stiles’ smile had fallen away, replaced with a look of uncertainty and mild concern. 

It was quite possible that Derek had been staring silently a touch longer than was polite. Shaking himself, he tried to plaster on his service smile. Lydia had insisted that he actually utilise it more, once she’d learned that he was capable of it. “What can I help you with, Mr. Stiles?” 

Stiles looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Derek clenched his jaw to maintain his smile instead of turning and fleeing like he really wanted to do. “Dude, just Stiles. Please. Seriously.”

If this kid called him “dude” one more time… “Very well. Stiles. How can I help you?”

Eyes flicking over Derek’s strained face, Stiles gave a careless shrug. “I need a suit. For work.”

Well, that was surprising. “It’s true we carry suits,” Derek said hesitantly, trying to think of a diplomatic way to respond. “Though, if this is for an interview, perhaps you’d rather shop somewhere that requires...less of an investment. This shop works exclusively on bespoke suits. Nothing’s off the rack.”

Derek really wished Stiles wouldn’t bite his lip like that, because it was far too distracting. He most certainly was _not_ going to let himself fall for some punk college kid. Stiles was smiling as he chewed his bottom lip, brown eyes gleaming with more of that impish mischief. “Yeah, no, man. I already have the job. It’s kind of a big thing, so I need to dress the part, evidently. I pass by this place all the time on my way to work, and I always thought it looked pretty cool. So, I figured now that I need to wear suits, I’d get some from here.”

Some? Derek blinked at the guy, wondering if he had any idea of just how much only one suit was going to cost him. “Absolutely, si--Stiles. You’ve come to the right place. Tell me more about your job, and I’ll be sure to find something that suits your needs.”

Stiles snorted and smacked Derek on the shoulder. “Suits. Good one!”

Fuck, Stiles was even more gorgeous when he laughed. Biting his tongue to control himself, Derek turned stiffly away and motioned for Stiles to follow him deeper into the store. “How formal is your workplace?” he asked, resisting the temptation to look back over his shoulder at the young man, because then he’d probably do something stupid like walk right into a mannequin.

“Unfortunately, it has become very formal,” Stiles bemoaned. “My business partner insisted that we look the part of a really real software firm. Like, what, our product doesn’t demonstrate that well enough for us? I gotta don some over-priced monkey suit just so our affiliates feel better? Man acts like we didn’t start in his basement wearing old sweats and stained T-shirts. Personally, I think he has a suit fetish, and he’s just trying to abuse his power to ogle a bunch of guys in tailored suits all day. I mean, not that I can blame him.” The last line was said rather pointedly, and when Derek _did_ dare to peek over his shoulder, he could swear that Stiles’ gaze was roaming all along Derek’s back. 

Derek ran into a pillar.

\---

“Now,” said Derek, indicating with a wave of his hand that Stiles should step onto the small, slightly raised platform in front of a set of three mirrors, “do you know any of your measurements, or shall I just do them all?”

Shrugging, Stiles fiddled with the waistband of the jeans. It kept revealing a flash of toned stomach, dark trail of hair, and the wide band of his underwear. Derek really wished he’d stop. “I don’t know my jacket size, but 32/34 for the pants.” 

Derek arched a brow as he studied Stiles’ build with a critical eye. “Are you certain? That doesn’t seem like it would fit quite right.”

“Same size I always get for my jeans,” Stiles said with another shrug.

“For your--” Derek stared at Stiles in horror. 

“Jesus, man, you look like I just shot your dog.” Eyebrows rising, Stiles turned away from the mirror in order to face Derek. “What’s wrong?”

“You need proper measurements,” Derek said slowly, wondering how a man smart enough to co-own a software company could be stupid enough to approach suit-buying the same way he bought his Levi jeans. 

Stiles’ nose did that cute wrinkle thing again. “Seriously? Can’t you just, like, guess?”

Appalled, Derek shook his head and moved to grab the tape measure hanging beside the fitting room door. “And have people think this establishment sells cheap, off-the-rack product?”

“I don’t think _anyone_ would assume the stuff this place sells is cheap,” Stiles snorted.

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Cheap doesn’t mean inexpensive. It means of poor quality.”

“I know what it means,” insisted Stiles, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Derek gave him a flat, unconvinced look, before moving in front of Stiles and lowering himself down to his knees. “Whoa, dude, what are you doing?” Stiles squawked suddenly, arms uncrossing in order to flail a bit wildly. 

Looking up at him with raised eyebrows, Derek lifted the measuring tape in his hands. “Taking your measurements.”

“You have to, um, do it like that? On your knees?” Stiles swallowed hard and his hands hovered in uncertainty of what they should do or where they should go. 

It was then that the situation finally sank into Derek’s mind, leaving him staring blankly in front of him. Which was a tad awkward, since he was eye level with Stiles’ crotch, right beneath that bold arrow pointing the way. Clearing his throat, Derek forced himself to maintain his air of professionalism. “I need to measure your waist and inseam,” he explained calmly. “This is the easiest way.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Okay.” Stiles’ voice seemed a bit tight, but when Derek glanced back up at him, the young man was staring hard at something in another direction. “Have at it, buddy.”

Measuring the waist and outseam wasn’t too bad, and Derek managed to barely touch the other man in the process. It was the inseam that had him again wondering if he was blessed or cursed. He tried to be as careful as he could, hold his hand as steady as possible on the inside of Stiles’ left thigh. _But._ But now he could tell that Stiles wore boxers, because what brushed against Derek’s knuckles wasn’t constrained at all. It was funny how he’d accidentally felt countless men’s balls against the back of his hand due to this job, but that was the first time that he really took notice. The first time that he was tempted to “slip” so that he’d feel the soft pressure a little more.

When he dared another glance up at Stiles’ face, though, that temptation went down in flames. The guy was practically cringing, obviously feeling uncomfortable with the whole affair and eagerly wishing it was over with. Quickly finishing his task, Derek stood, keeping his eyes diverted. “Now I’ll need to measure you for the shirt and coat,” he said flatly, trying to dampen his bitterness and disappointment. 

“Awesome,” Stiles chirped. 

Derek pressed his lips thinly together as he began taking the proper measurements. He’d quietly instruct Stiles to raise his arms when needed, but otherwise didn’t say a word. He couldn’t even bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes. 

After recording all of the measurements, Derek silently led him over to the displays. “I have several styles available currently,” Derek explained, motioning to the wall behind him that housed mannequin torsos sporting blazers, then over to the adjacent wall with mannequin legs in various pants. “You can choose whichever combination you prefer, as well as the fabric you desire.” He indicated the swatches arranged stylishly around each display. “I take your preferences and craft a suit made specifically to your measurements.”

Stiles let out a low whistle and stepped up to the torso wall. “I never knew suit shopping was like this.”

“It isn’t always,” Derek explained, watching Stiles closely to make sure the man didn’t manhandle the displays and break anything. “Most suit shops have pre-made products that you can have tailored. I’m a designer, though, and this shop is exclusive to my designs. We only sell pre-made shirts, belts, socks, and other accessories. The shirts all belong to my brand, as well.”

“Man, though, how come all these shirts are white, grey, or black?” Stiles asked, swiveling around to wave his hands at the rest of the shop. “Like, seriously, this place is so damn depressing. You need some color up in here.”

“We’ll be getting some colorful new arrivals soon, actually,” Derek heard himself say before he even realized _what_ he was saying. It was a lie, but he was fairly certain he could arrange to have them within days, if he put the order into his sewing crew immediately. “Should be getting them in by next week.” Isaac was going to _kill_ him for it, though. 

It was worth it to see Stiles’ face brighten, and Derek realized with a start that he’d made eye contact when he was trying to actively avoid it. “Sweet! Then maybe I’ll pick some up when I come in to get my suits.” 

Derek felt himself nodding and smiling back, wondering at how Stiles’ own smile seemed to grow. “We’ll call you when the suits are finished, and the new shirts should hopefully be here by then, yes. First, though, you need to determine which suits you want.”

That made Stiles’ shoulder droop and he looked back at the suit displays with a frown. “Honestly, man, I have no clue about this stuff. Like, can’t you just pick something that would look good on me? You’re a designer, right? Shouldn’t be a problem for someone with your skills.” 

Face most certainly _not_ heating from the compliment, Derek cleared his throat and tried to look at Stiles through a designer’s lens. Images were coming to mind, suits coming into crisp focus down to the finest detail. Yes, he could definitely determine what would look best on Stiles, and had no problem envisioning it. The only real problem was that _what_ he envisioned were entirely new pieces. He’d be literally starting from scratch. But, god, they were fucking _perfect_.

He cleared his throat again and gave Stiles a small nod. “I do believe I know exactly what to make for you. How many suits were you looking to purchase at this time?”

Stiles was beaming at him again, looking distinctly relieved at not having to make the choices himself. “I dunno, maybe two? Yeah, two sounds good. We’ll go with two for now. I can probably get away with wearing the same suit every other day, right?”

Derek tried not to cringe at the thought of his works being treated like jeans--yet again. “If that’s what you want,” he hedged. “I’ll calculate the estimate.” He nodded towards the marble and glass cash wrap, then started walking over to it with Stiles on his heels.

“Do I pay now or when I get the suits?”

“A down payment is made now, and then you pay the remainder after the suit is complete and the finalized price is calculated.” Derek stepped smoothly behind the counter and bypassed the touch-screen computer to instead grab a scrap of paper and a pen. He’d need to calculate this freehand, since they weren’t any of the available designs. Once he was finished, he slid the paper over to Stiles, the down payment clearly marked.

Aside from raising his eyebrows a little, Stiles didn’t really react to the high price. Instead, he casually reached into his back pocket and withdrew a tattered old wallet. “Cash okay?” he asked, thumbing through a substantial collection of high-value notes. 

“We don’t usually, due to security purposes, but if it is your preferred method, we can.”

“It is,” said Stiles with a snort. “Otherwise people see my real first name, and that’s just all kinds of embarrassing for all parties involved. You’ll try to pronounce it, I’ll once again regret ever having been named it… Really, it’s just best we stick to cash and calling me Stiles.”

“Why don’t you legally change it, if you dislike it so much?” Derek asked absently as he manually typed in the order to the computer so he could print out a receipt and invoice. 

“Ah,” Stiles released on a sigh as he leaned forward on the counter, bracing himself on folded arms. “It’s a family name. My mom’s dad. So, I keep it out of respect.”

Derek flicked a glance at him, catching the hint of sadness shadowing the otherwise lively eyes. It was a look Derek knew well, since he’d seen it often in his sister’s eyes, as well as in the mirror. He didn’t pry, however. Instead, he simply took the money Stiles had laid out, counted it, then printed the necessary papers. “May I have your number?”

Stiles’ attention snapped up to him, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. “What? Really? I mean, if you--”

“We’ll need to be able to reach you when your suits are ready,” Derek explained. 

For some reason, that made Stiles blush bright red and look down at his fidgeting hands on the countertop. “Oh, right. Right, of course, yeah, that makes sense,” Stiles rambled with a strained levity before listing each number out slowly for Derek to record. 

Thanking him, Derek handed Stiles his copy of everything and once again offered up his service smile. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Stiles.”

Smiling back at him, cheeks still a bit flushed, Stiles was slow to pull the papers fully from Derek’s grip. “Yeah. Same. Me, too. I--” Seeming to catch himself, Stiles shook his head as his smile twisted into one of self-deprecation. “I should go. See ya, Derek.”

“Good-bye, Stiles. Have a great day.”

When Stiles made a little gun-shooting motion to accompany his departing “You, too” at the door, Derek should have found it stupid and juvenile. To his horror, he found himself irrevocably charmed. Stiles was still visible in the large shop windows when Derek was hastily withdrawing one of his sketchbooks and etching out the designs inspired by the strange man. 

By the end of the day, he had far more than two designs, but he supposed it was good to have back-ups for when Stiles decided to expand his professional wardrobe further. What was most surprising, however, was that each design was alive with color, where Derek’s signature style had always been monochrome. Isaac was seriously going to suspect Derek was replaced by a pod person. Lydia, though, would be ecstatic. She’d been on his case for months to get with the times and add color to his looks.

Sighing, Derek looked down at the drawing of a young man with tousled dark hair, gleaming eyes, and a sharp, teasing smile. Jesus, he was even drawing the guy’s face on his design figures. What was next? Hearts around Stiles’ name? Their initials joined with a + and equaling 4eva? 

Derek needed a drink. Hopefully Erica and Boyd would be free later, and not ask him any questions for once. First, though, he’d need to scan and send the new designs to Isaac so they could start on Stiles’ order as soon as possible. 

He couldn’t wait to see Stiles in the new designs.


	2. Are You Autumn?  Because I'm Fallin'.

“Is there a _reason_ you called me in so early?” Lydia asked in lieu of a greeting as she entered the shop through the back door and paused in his office doorway. 

There was. The same reason Derek was jittery before even taking one sip of his espresso. “I need your decorating expertise to help merchandise the new line,” he explained, trying to keep his knee from bouncing and pretending to be absolutely absorbed in some paperwork.

She cocked her head, soft, curling tendrils of her strawberry-blond hair falling artfully from her updo and brushing against her silk-clad shoulder. She was wearing the dark blue sheath dress Derek had designed for her last month, and he was pleased to see it fit her form and coloring perfectly. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should start including some of his female clothing designs in his shop. 

“What new line?” she asked, voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion. 

Before Derek could answer, however, the back door burst open to admit Isaac pulling a long clothing rack packed with dress shirts. “This is the first one,” Isaac called to them over his shoulder as he passed behind Lydia towards the shop proper. “There’s one more rack on the truck, then the customer’s orders.”

Lydia reached out and snagged one of the shirts before Isaac had passed. Turning slowly back into the office to face Derek, she stood there with her hip cocked and one dainty finger curled around the hook of the hanger. “What is this?” she asked with false sweetness, glossy lips pressed in a thin, mock smile.

He eyed the bright green shirt draped on the hanger. “A shirt,” he answered, voice and expression flat.

“What _kind_ of shirt?” pressed Lyda.

“A men’s dress shirt.”

Her eyebrows went up a little, which was the only outward sign that she was losing her patience. “This shirt is green, Derek.”

“I am aware.”

“There are more like it. Other colors, too. Like purple and red. I even saw yellow, Derek. _Yellow_.”

“It’s the ‘in’ thing to wear a bit of color with your suit, Lydia.”

Lydia flashed him a fuck you smile. “Yes, I know. I’ve been telling you that we need to get more colors in, and you kept brushing me off. Insisted we keep things ‘traditional.’” She made the air quotes.

“Well, you won. Congratulations. We now have hip, trendy colors.”

“Yes, but _why_?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and for a moment he was almost afraid she’d be able to read his mind.

Clearing his throat, he closed the folder he wasn’t actually reading and swiveled his desk chair to fully face her. “The shop needs more customers, or we won’t be able to afford the lease. I thought I’d try my hand at your suggestion and add more color variety to our selection.”

She continued to scrutinize him with suspicion, but eventually she gave a curt little nod. “Alright. I’ll be out arranging the new selections, if you need me.”

Derek smiled at her, grateful not only that she seemed willing to drop it for now, but that she was also going to make his store look amazing. “Thank you.”

\---

Before he left, Isaac had assured Derek that Stiles had been notified the previous evening that his order would be available first thing in the morning. Derek didn’t really expect Stiles to stop by when they opened, and figured he was likely going to swing by on his way home from work. Still, that didn’t stop Derek from constantly peeking out of the back office to “check in” on the shop. 

By about the eighth time he wandered into the shop, Lydia had stepped away from the display she was setting up and click-clacked her way to Derek in a huff. “Am I doing something wrong?” she snapped, crossing her arms. 

Derek blinked at her for a moment, confused. “What?” 

“The displays,” she elaborated, swinging a hand back towards the merchandising she was still in the process of arranging. 

“Oh.” He looked over at them, finding no faults and only artistically composed suit combinations on strategically arranged mannequins. “Those look great.”

“Well, if not the displays, then _what_? Why do you keep coming out here? I thought I was working the front today while you handle the bookkeeping and show arrangements.”

“Hey, Derek! Oh, man, the colored shirts are in, too? Awesome!”

 _Shit_.

Slowly Lydia turned to take in Stiles, who was striding excitedly up to them with a huge grin on his unfair face. Her shrewd, dark eyes flicked from Stiles to Derek, and a knowing smirk was beginning to curl one corner of her mouth. “Derek,” she purred, and Derek hated how that drew Stiles’ attention to her as effectively as a shout. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Mr. Stiles Stilinski,” he gritted out through a clenched-teeth smile. “I assume he’s here to pick up his order.”

“Yep! And a few shirts, now that the colored ones have come in.” Stiles beamed at her, but then turned his full attention to Derek and shifted a little closer. “You gonna help me out again, man? Find the right colors and all that?”

Just as Derek was starting to perk up and move closer, Lydia smoothly stepped between them. She was smiling at Stiles like a strawberry-blond angel of fashion, there to protect him from Derek’s unethical intentions. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stilinski,” she greeted a bit too warmly to be considered entirely professional.

“Please, just Stiles.”

Her saccharine smile grew, and Derek reminded himself Lydia was his best employee and that he shouldn’t fire her. “Stiles. I’m Lydia. Unfortunately, Derek has boring ol’ paperwork to do, so I’ll be helping you make your selections.”

Stiles eyed her for a moment, his smile not quite as vibrant, before looking over at Derek. “That’s too bad. It was great dealing with you last time.”

Derek’s stomach flipped, and he couldn’t help the next words from stumbling out of his mouth. “My paperwork won’t take long. I’ll check in with you before you leave to make certain you’ve found everything you need, and see if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

“That’s some damn fine service,” said Stiles, smile now wide and blindingly bright. 

Lydia cleared her throat daintily to regain Stiles’ attention, then tilted her head with that cute little smile of hers. “Why don’t you head to the fitting rooms and I’ll grab your suit as well as a few shirts.” 

“Suits,” Stiles corrected, glancing back at Derek while addressing Lydia. “Derek said he was going to design a couple of suits for me.”

That pulled Lydia up short. “Design them? You didn’t get something from the current line?” She was looking between Derek and Stiles, and Derek could just _see_ the pieces clicking together in her head. Goddammit. “Well, that’s _interesting_. You’re the only customer I know to get something uniquely original.” Lydia grinned like a shark when Stiles bit his lip and looked down with a blushing smile. 

Derek was torn between the desire to berate Lydia or wrap Stiles up into a tight hug. How could Stiles be so damn cute while standing there in stained jeans and a T-shirt for some space horror video game? Jesus Christ.

“I’ll get your suits then, Stiles, and meet you at the fitting rooms, alright?” Lydia prompted gently. 

“Sure thing.” With one last lingering glance at Derek, Stiles turned and headed off towards the fitting rooms. 

Lydia waited until he was out of earshot before rounding on Derek with narrowed eyes. “You don’t even know who that is, do you?” she hissed. “You’re investing in new lines for the store just because you like his smile or something.”

Derek was uncertain how to respond. Somehow he didn’t think “I like more than just his smile” was really the answer Lydia was waiting for. After a few awkward moments of silence from Derek, Lydia huffed out a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Would it _kill_ you to read up on the happenings of the business world, Derek? Honestly.” With one last disapproving shake of her head, Lydia was strutting off to assist Stiles. Derek started questioning his decision not to fire her.

\---

By the time Derek was finished sulking over paperwork in the back, Lydia had successfully done her magic. There was a massive collection of shirts hanging neatly from a rolling rack near the fitting rooms, and Derek had no doubt the girl had convinced Stiles he needed to purchase every single one. _That_ , he reminded himself, was why he kept her around.

“I don’t know,” he heard Stiles drawl out speculatively from around the rack. “It’s yellow.”

“Sunset marigold,” Lydia corrected with sweet forcefulness.

“That justs sounds like a pretentious way of saying ‘yellow,’” grumbled Stiles. 

Unable to contain his curiosity, Derek moved around the rack to get a clear view of the mirrors where Stiles was standing. He was then reminded of exactly why Lydia did so well convincing customers to pay out a sultan’s ransom on clothes--she knew how to dress people. Stiles was in the suit Derek had designed for him that was a dark, burnt red, with a dress shirt the color of...well, fuck, the color of marigolds at sunset. It was yellow, but not bright, its color subdued with hints of dusky orange. When Stiles spotted Derek, he whirled around to face him with a grin, and fuck if the colors in his outfit didn’t make his eyes look amazing, just as Derek had envisioned when planning the suit. 

“Well?” asked Lydia as she sidled up beside Derek, a smirk leaking out around the edges of her retail smile. “What do _you_ think, Derek?”

“You look like autumn,” Derek heard himself blurt, because evidently his brain-to-mouth filter had been temporarily short-circuited by the sight before him. As Stiles’ smile started to shrink and become a bit uncertain, Derek quickly proclaimed: “I love autumn. It’s my favorite season. The most beautiful time of the year, in my opinion.”

And, wow, he needed to shut up. He was pretty certain he’d just confessed to calling Stiles “beautiful,” albeit in a roundabout way. 

Stiles was beaming at him, though, his big, pretty eyes bright and his cheeks pinking. He seriously looked good blushing. Derek wondered if Stiles would blush when he kissed, or if he’d be nothing but confident smiles as he pressed Derek down and ran those stupidly gorgeous lips over everything he was about to lay claim to. 

“Yeah,” Stiles was saying with an adorably pleased little smile as he looked down at the suit and rubbed a hand across his trim chest. “I think I’ll get this shirt, then.”

Lydia made a small sound of approval and gently pushed Derek aside so she could approach Stiles at the mirrors. “Excellent. I’ll add it with the others after you change back. Since you insist on only using two suits for work, the variety of shirts will help create the illusion of wearing different suits.”

“Thanks,” he enthused, eyes flicking over to where Derek was still standing dumbly. “Although maybe I should consider buying a few more suits? I mean, since the designs of these suits are so good even someone as fashion illiterate as I am can see how sweet they are.”

“If that’s what you’d like,” she agreed while darting Derek an amused glance and moving to smoothly help Stiles out of his coat. Derek tried not to stare at the way the dark gold fabric of the shirt tightened across Stiles’ chest, but Lydia’s smirk told him he’d failed. 

Derek opened his mouth to talk, failed, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I have a few more design concepts that would work for you, actually. I mean, if you’re really interested.”

Stiles grinned wide. “Oh, I’m interested.”

\---

Derek hovered while trying not to look like he was hovering as Lydia processed the sale. He had no idea what to say or do, and honestly felt like an idiot just standing there. Stiles kept shooting him silly grins while drumming his fingers on the counter in a chaotic rhythm. It was obvious Lydia was using every scrap of her patience to maintain her professional charm and not snap.

“Derek, why don’t you get your design sketches and show Stiles your other ideas?” Lydia prompted sweetly as her tiny fingers typed away at the touch-screen monitor to enter all the new merchandise that hadn’t been properly inventoried yet. 

Right! That was a far more productive thing to do than hover. Not to mention less creeper-ish. “Of course. Be right back.”

“Nah, I trust you,” said Stiles, crossing his arms on the counter and leaning forward a bit. “I mean, you didn’t show me these two before making them, right? And they turned out perfect. You obviously know what you’re doing, so I know I’m in good hands.”

“You created a blind order for a customer, Derek?” Lydia asked with a forced smile and pointed look. 

“Inspiration had just struck,” Derek offered, returning Lydia’s look with one of his own, wondering why she was so angry at that. “I did the sketches immediately after the order was placed.

Her eyes widened just the slightest bit, which for her spoke volumes. “ _You’re_ the boss,” she chimed, turning her focus back to the touch-screen.

“Speaking of, it’s a great place you have here.” Stiles made a thoughtful hum as he glanced around the shop. “This seems like a really relaxing place to work, opposed to my company. I thought being the Big Boss of something like that would be easy, ya know? But I swear, I rarely ever even get to sit in my fancy desk chair.”

Lydia tutted politely, with the requisite “Sounds tiring.” Derek, however, was too busy thinking about Stiles striding down halls in a rush, his tailored suit clinging in all the right places. He thought about Stiles running his hand back through his hair in frustration, mussing it until he looked well-fucked. He thought about ways he could help Stiles relieve some stress, having the man sit back in that “fancy desk chair,” while Derek knelt between his long legs. 

“Do you do anything after work for fun?” Lydia was asking, snapping Derek out of his daydreams. “To relax, after such a stressful day?”

Nodding, Stiles glanced at Derek and bit his lip. “A few things. Take walks, play video games, some table-top RPGing.”

“Derek loves all that fantasy stuff,” Lydia volunteered with a grin. Derek glared at her and skipped wanting to fire her and went straight to _murder_. “His favorite book series is _Game of Thrones,_ and he _totally_ loves anything that has to deal with elves and magic and epic battles.”

“ _Game of Thrones_ doesn't have any elves,” Derek hissed. 

Stiles snorted and then quickly shook his head while waving his hand. “No, sorry, I’m not laughing at you. At least, not in the way you think. Just, dude, you’re so right.”

“You still like elves, though,” Lydia insisted primly, before smiling sweetly at Stiles and giving him his total. 

“Why would you say that? When did I ever say that?”

Shrugging as she swiped Stiles’ card, Lydia said, “Last week you were asking all of us about elves. I saw you searching about them on your computer in the back.”

A spike of panic shot through Derek and he glanced at Stiles before clearing his throat and looking away. “That was...there was a reason.”

Luckily, Stiles couldn’t read minds, and he just smiled amicably. “No worries, man. For the record, I am a living encyclopedia concerning mythical beings. Just ask me, next time.” He winked at Derek as he extended his hand to retrieve his card--wait, why did Lydia get Stiles’ card with his real name and Derek didn’t?--and receipt from Lydia. “You have my number in your system, I know, but just in case…” Stiles pulled a business card out of his wallet as he slipped his credit card back into place. He frowned at it for a second before leaning forward onto the counter and grabbing a pen in order to scribble something on the back. “Forgot this only has my business number,” Stiles mumbled as his carefully formed each number clearly in blue ink. 

Derek didn’t know what to say when Stiles handed him the card accompanied with a shy-yet-determined smile. Was this Stiles’ way of getting Derek to call him and ask him out? Was he trying to show interest? But, hadn’t he been cringing and displeased with being in Derek’s close proximity last week? Maybe he just wanted to be friends. That was probably it. Stiles was probably straight, anyway. He was just looking for a fellow geek to be buddies with. 

Staring blankly down at the card in his hand, Derek heard Stiles let out a heavy breath and say, “Well, alrighty then. So, I’ll be heading out. Just, um, give me a call when the suits are done. Or, ya know, if you wanna talk about elves or whatever. Start a D&D campaign. Arrange a raid in WoW. Or maybe I should just shut up now before I completely ruin any chance of you ever wanting to talk to me again, like, ever.”

Derek snapped his attention back to Stiles as the man started to back away, trying his best to smile as if the thought of just being Stiles’ friend was great and didn’t at all make his chest feel like it was being crushed. “Are you sure I won’t be imposing?” he asked, holding up the card. 

It had Stiles beaming back at him and shaking his head. “No imposition at all, man. Seriously, call or text me anytime.”

“Thank you. I will.” Derek continued smiling at him, and Stiles continued walking backwards as he returned the smile, arms laden with stuffed garment bags.

Stiles then ran into the window beside the door, cursed softly, and ducked out of the shop with a self-deprecating grin and red cheeks. Derek felt the dizzying sensation of falling even further.

“Oh, my god,” groaned Lydia, pressing her eyes closed and taking a calming breath. “You two are so made for each other, it’s ridiculous.” At Derek’s disbelieving scoff, her eyes flew open and she pinned him with a glare. “What’s even more ridiculous is that he’s wasted on someone like _you_ , who doesn’t even know who he is.”

“He’s Stiles.”

“He’s one of the most successful men in the country right now,” Lydia said slowly, through perfect teeth clenched tightly together in something between a snarl and a sarcastic smile. 

“He’s probably straight.” Derek shrugged, as if his own words didn’t bother him, and looked down at the card between his fingers. He most certainly wasn’t pouting, or anything. 

Lydia tsked and pushed past him. “I don’t have time to watch idiocy in action. I’ve got to finish merchandising the new products you only created because you have a crush. If you’re going to brood sexily, go do it by the window so that you can attract more customers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.


	3. If the Shoe Fits...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know of any typos and such I've missed. Danke.

Derek made certain that he was the only one working on the day Isaac dropped off Stiles’ new suits. Still, he knew he had all day to wait because Stiles wasn’t likely to swing by until his own workday was done. l’Echec du Loup wasn’t a particularly busy shop, and that day was especially dead. To attempt to pass the time in some way, Derek dusted, carefully went over every display piece with a lint brush, and polished every glass surface. Three times. 

Eventually Derek attempted to channel his energy through designing, and set up at the check-out counter with his sketchbook and colored pencils. It was a good distraction, since few things were able to completely capture his attention like designing. 

“I didn’t know you designed women’s clothing, too.” Stiles’ voice startled him, as once again the guy had managed to slip in without Derek even having noticed. Glancing at his watch, Derek realized he’d been sitting there sketching for over three hours. 

He was about to close his book, when Stiles reached out to pull it closer with bright, questioning eyes. “I don’t usually,” Derek murmured in reply, feeling a bit self-conscious about the unfinished design. “A few things, here and there.”

“This looks like a wedding dress,” Stiles said hesitantly, glancing at Derek for a split second before focusing more intently on the page. He was wearing the dark green suit this time, paired with a sepia-toned shirt, and Derek couldn’t help running his gaze over every inch of him. That’s when Derek noticed that Stiles seemed a bit tense in the shoulders, the usual smile gone from around his eyes. Perhaps he’d had a rough day. Derek could think of a few ways to help ease his tension…

Leaning across the counter a little, Derek ducked his head down to where Stiles was curled over the book. “It is,” he answered, voice softened to an almost intimate level. “My two best friends are getting married in a few months, and this is my gift to them. Well, half of it. I’m also designing the groom’s tux.”

Stiles’ tension seemed to melt a bit and he slanted a smile at Derek. “Expensive gifts.”

Derek just shrugged and smiled openly back. “They’re worth it.”

Humming, Stiles looked back down at the page. “I get ya. I have a best friend that’s like a brother to me. Been with me through thick and thin, ya know? One of the first things I did after I realized how much I make now was pay off all my bro’s college loans. Dude argued with me for a solid week, but I was insistent. I know if the situation were reversed, he’d have done the same for me.”

Fuck, this guy seriously needed to stop or else there would be absolutely zero hope for Derek to survive. This wasn’t healthy, he knew, forming a crush on his newest and best client who was probably arrow straight. Maybe Derek should try that online dating site again...get back out there, meet some people.

“So,” Derek said, suddenly way louder than their private little chat had been. “Your suits.” He quickly turned and darted away to retrieve the garment bags from beside the door to the back room. Hanging them up on a gleaming rack beside the counter, he carefully unzipped each to show Stiles what had been created for him. There were three this time, in a deep blue, a brighter red than his other, and a plum purple. “I know you like colors,” he offered with an uncharacteristic onset of nerves.

“Dude,” Stiles breathed stepping over to them in order to get a better look. Just as with his other two, each had a slightly different cut as well as variants to the collars. The red one also included a matching vest. “These are so cool.”

“Yeah?” Derek could feel his cheeks heating, as well as the little smile that was trying to break free of his professional calm. 

“Yeah! Should I try them on? What shirts would go with them? Do I need new shirts for these, too?”

Derek looked between the suits and Stiles, mentally pulling up all the shirts Lydia had gotten him to purchase on his last visit. “Perhaps one or two extra shirts, but I think you honestly have a good selection that will work with these already. I’ll show you.” He then proceeded to wheel the rack with the suits along with them towards the shirts, pointing out to Stiles which ones he had already that could go with which suit, and selecting a few more for him to try on.

\--

“They all look amazing on you,” Derek said without thinking, while Stiles stood in front of the mirror wearing the plum one, which was his last to try. 

Stiles ducked his head, fiddling with his cuffs a bit and grinning. “I should hope so, since they were all made specifically for me. Major props, man. Somehow you managed to make me look like a real grown-up professional.”

“Well, except for your shoes,” Derek pointed out with a disdainful glance at the offending loafers. “Are those the only ‘nice’ shoes you own?”

Snorting, Stiles looked at his shoes and playfully tapped his toes. “I could totally hear the ironic quotation marks.” He lifted his head and turned to smirk at Derek, and really he just needed to stop with his everything, shit. “Yeah, these are it. Yet another area I’m completely clueless in, I’m afraid.”

Derek glared at the loafers with a frown and let out a disapproving little grunt. “I can help. Let’s get you rung up for these, and I’ll take you to a place nearby that’ll have just what you need.”

Stiles stood there on the little raised platform for a moment, just opening and closing his mouth like a fish, before he nodded with his whole body and nearly stumbled off. “Yeah, cool, let’s do that. I’ll just go change? Be right back.” 

\--

They left Stiles’ fresh purchases in the shop and closed it up (“You sure it’s okay to just close like this, Derek?” “It’ll be fine, Stiles, don’t worry. I’m the owner, remember?”). The shoe store was just two blocks down, so they walked. 

“So who’s your favorite character in _Game of Thrones_?” Stiles asked when they were barely three steps out the door. 

Derek actually had to think about that, tilting his head back and squinting at the drooping sun. “Jaime Lannister, maybe. How he is later on in the books, though, obviously. At the start he’s horrible.”

“Seriously. I was about to get all judgy on you, dude. Oddly enough, mine’s a Lannister, too. Tyrion.”

Snorting, Derek shook his head. “Tyrion is the best, you’re right. God, his snark.”

“Right? Which, speaking of, I also like Sansa for some of her subtle snark. Girl delivers so many sly burns to Joffrey, the kid should look like Sandor Clegane.” 

Derek burst out laughing at that, just as he turned them to slip into the right shop. He was too busy looking at Stiles’ beaming face to notice the two people at the counter looking at him in absolute shock. As he turned to face them, he caught their expressions and quickly schooled his features and cleared his throat. “Hi,” he offered awkwardly.

“ _Hi_?” Erica repeated with a scoff. “The boy comes in here with a hot young thing on his arm, glowing like the sun, and all he’s got to say to us is _hi_?” She shared a look with Boyd and pushed away from the counter to saunter up to Derek and Stiles. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Her large, dark eyes scanned over Stiles in assessment, and her lips curled up in approval. 

“Stiles, this is Erica and Boyd. They’re the friends I told you about. Boyd’s a shoe designer, and this is his shop. Erica, Boyd, this is Stiles-”

“The cu-” Erica started to say, eyes lighting up upon recognizing the name from Derek’s drunken lamenting about his unfair face. 

“- _Customer_ I told you about, yes,” Derek quickly spoke over her. He hoped to _god_ Stiles hadn’t heard the rest of what Erica had been trying to say.

She made grabby hands at Stiles before actually gripping his arms and pulling him further into the store. “Oh my god, Derek, is this one of the suits? Holy shit! Boyd, look at this!” Erica then manhandled Stiles into turning around to fully display the suit to Boyd, who was slowly making his way over from the counter. “Derek has _never_ made a suit like this! Look at the color!”

Stiles’ cheeks were red, but he didn’t try to pull himself free of Erica’s hold. “The others are all different colors, too,” he said with a soft smile and a glance Derek’s way.

Boyd made a low whistle, eyeing the suit with appreciation. Then he came to the shoes and his expression soured in indignation. “But I see why you came here. Jesus, where did you get those? Payless?”

The increased blush on Stiles’ face was the best tell, and Boyd rolled his eyes while Erica laughed. “Come sit down, sweetie, and we’ll get you all sorted with some _quality_ footwear,” Erica assured with a wink. 

\--

“He’s super cute,” Erica whispered as she sidled up beside Derek. Across the store, Boyd was trying to explain to Stiles, as patiently as he could, that no he could not wear black shoes with every outfit, dear god, man, at least get a brown pair as well. 

“Yeah,” Derek agreed with a sigh. Stiles bent over to retie a lace, and Derek nearly whimpered. Maybe it had been a bad idea to make the pants such a flattering cut. 

“So, remind me again why you aren’t tapping that already?”

“He’s straight.”

Erica scoffed and crossed her arms, turning to join Derek in watching the men across the room. “Says who? He’s been checking you out just as much as you’ve been checking him out. Trust me, I kept count.”

Derek opened his mouth to object, remembering vividly the reaction Stiles had towards his close proximity while taking measurements. Then he remembered the way Stiles had looked at him the entire time he was there to pick up his first two suits, and how Stiles had even run into the window he’d been so caught up smiling at Derek. Huh. “He… _did_ give me his cell number and told me to call him. For non-suit-related things.”

“What, today?”

“No, ah,” he licked his lips and cast her a wary glance. “Two weeks ago, when he came to get his first two suits.”

Erica smacked him upside the head. “You’re telling me that you came over and drank a bottle of one of my favorite wines so you could needlessly cry on our sofa-”

“-I wasn’t _crying_ -”

“- _after_ he’d already given the go-ahead to pursue him, and you were just too fucking dense to realize it until just this moment?”

“I-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” grumbled Erica. “If you aren’t banging that on the regular by the next time we get together for dinner, I will call Laura and tell her how much of a failboat you are.”

Derek looked at her in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Erica’s grin was lupine in its dark fierceness. “Just fucking watch me.”

“Dude!” Stiles cried out, striding quickly away from Boyd in order to pick up a shoe that was on display. “Derek, check out the purple leather on this! This, like, totally matches that one suit!” He turned, holding the shoe up, and his expression was so open and bright and god _damn_ but Derek had fallen so hard that all the King’s horses and all the King’s men would never be able to put him together again.

Frowning contemplatively at the shoe, Boyd offered to make matching shoes for each suit if he wanted. For just a moment, Stiles seemed to hesitate, as if mentally asking himself if he really needed to spend _that_ much money on shoes. He glanced between Derek, Erica, and Boyd, then flicked his gaze around the shop. It was a considerably smaller shop than Derek’s, and just as lacking in customers. Uncertainty melting away, Stiles turned a bright smile on Boyd and extended his right hand as if sealing a deal. “Sounds perfect.”

“Great,” said Boyd as he clapped his hand into Stiles’ and shook it. “Derek can email me the designs, and I can get to work on them right away.”

\--

“Danny is going to be _so_ jealous of how fly I’m gonna look now,” Stiles proclaimed with an impish grin as they walked back to Derek’s shop. 

“Danny?” Derek asked, trying to reign in the niggling stab of jealousy. 

“My business partner,” clarified Stiles. 

Ah. Derek nodded in understanding and more than a little relief. “The one who established the suit rule.”

Stiles laughed, head tilted back and eyes little more than glittering slits. “That would be the one. He’s already been jealous of the suits he’s seen so far. I can just imagine the look in his eyes when he sees the full package with the new shoes and everything.” He smiled toothily at Derek, cocking his head a little. “Maybe I’ll be nice and tell him where I got everything.”

“Well,” said Derek, eyebrows raising, “it would certainly be nice for _me_. And Boyd, too, if Danny also wants shoes.”

Pressing his perfect lips together, Stiles hummed. “Guess I’ll tell him, then. No matter how much I kinda want to keep you all to myself.” There was a sly look in his eyes, and Derek was struck with the sudden realization that they were possibly flirting.

God, he hoped they were flirting, because otherwise he was about to make an ass of himself. “You could have dinner with me tonight,” Derek offered, trying to pitch his voice low and intimate, shifting closer. “Maybe find a different avenue of exclusivity.”

Stiles’ lips parted, wet and pink and oh so fucking tempting. He moved closer as well, until that sidewalk felt like a small, private room. “I didn’t think you were interested.”

Trying to tear his focus up from Stiles’ mouth to his gorgeous eyes, Derek blinked. “Why would you think that?”

Derek’s attention was immediately snatched back up by Stiles’ lips as the guy bit down on the plump bottom one before licking the hurt away and replying. “You never called or texted.”

“I thought you were straight,” Derek confessed, feeling so fucking stupid now that he knew he could have been dating Stiles for weeks. “You cringed when I was measuring you, like you hated the very thought of another guy touching you.”

“What?” Stiles swayed backwards for a moment, then his face twisted up as he snorted out a laugh. “Oh, dude, no. I was trying to think of the least sexy thing possible to keep from making things awkward.” His face smoothed out as a smirk slid across it and his eyelids drooped. Leaning back in close, Stiles husked in a voice that should come with a warning label, “God, the sight of you on your knees in front of me like that…”

_Oh_.

Derek grinned wide and sharp, to the point that his cheeks ached. “Dinner first,” he said, making an obvious show of checking Stiles out. “Then perhaps we can revisit that thought.”

“ _Jesus_.” Stiles’ hand splayed against Derek’s side, sliding down to curve around his hip and cling as if it was the only way he could remain standing. “That escalated quickly. Not that I’m complaining,” he rushed to say, tightening his grip on Derek’s hip. “Just, give me a minute to catch my breath.”

“So is that a yes to dinner?”

Stiles laughed, and his hand slid away, leaving Derek’s hip feeling cold. “Definitely.” A beat later, his expression was crumbling. “But, I can’t. Not tonight, at least. Rain check?” He was back to biting at his lip, which was a completely unfair tactic. 

“Of course,” Derek assured, wanting to reach out and touch Stiles as Stiles had been touching him just a moment ago, but unsure if he should. Instead, he just slid his hands awkwardly into his pant pockets. “Let me know whenever you’re free.”

At that, Stiles ducked his head and regarded him almost shyly. “By calling the shop?”

“What? No, why would you--”

“I don’t have your cell number. I gave you mine, but you never…”

Well, fuck. Since his hand was in his pocket already, it was easy to pull out the slim device. “I’ll fix that right now,” he said, pulling up Stiles’ number, which he’d saved in his phone and stared at like a love-sick moron without ever once daring to text or call. With a few quick keystrokes, he was shooting Stiles a text that was nothing more than a simple “Hi.” 

Still, it made Stiles grin when his phone chimed in his pocket. “Awesome. Thanks, man. I’ll definitely let you know when the next time I’m free is. Which will be soon, hopefully. Because, seriously, yes. To all of this.” He waved a hand around to encompass the both of them, and his eyes seemed somehow brighter in the light of the sinking sun. “It needs to happen.”

Derek chuckled and couldn’t help but step even closer, taking his turn at biting his lower lip. “Would it be alright if I…?” he asked, glancing pointedly down at Stiles’ lips and letting his gaze linger.

His answer came by way of Stiles gripping his lapels and pulling him in for a much more involved kiss than the chaste peck Derek had planned. Not that he was opposed to the turn of events, at all. When they slowly parted, they stared at each other for a dazed moment before sharing silly smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	4. Business Is Booming (and So Is My Heart)

“Careful, this suit was custom made.” Stiles chuckled at his own joke, before hissing in a deep breath as Derek managed to find skin. 

“That’s why we should get it off of you, before it gets messy,” Derek purred against Stiles’ ear, hands sliding the blazer smoothly off of Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles watched Derek turn to carefully drape the coat across the back of the couch. “Do you really not usually make custom designs for people?”

When Derek turned back towards Stiles, he was greeted with a small smile and hopeful, dark eyes. “Really,” he confirmed, moving back into Stiles’ space and cupping a beauty-marked cheek with his hand. “I could make a million different lines just from looking at you.”

Blushing, Stiles breathed out a half-laugh. “I bet you say that to all your top clients,” he teased.

“No.” Derek kissed him gently, chastly, but it still left Stiles panting against his lips as they parted. “From the moment you stepped into my shop, you had me captivated.” He smiled against Stiles’ lips. “Even in that god-awful shirt.”

“God, don’t remind me about that shirt,” groaned Stiles, before stealing another kiss. “It made the part with you on your knees even worse. You do _not_ want to know what I had to imagine in order to keep things under control.”

Derek chuckled, then kissed Stiles again in a decidedly less chaste way. “I wanted to touch you,” he confessed, moving the kisses along Stiles’ jaw to his neck. “If I’d known you wanted me, too, I’d have…”

“What?” prompted Stiles, fingers clinging to Derek’s dress shirt. “What would you have done?”

In answer, Derek slid to his knees. He listened to Stiles’ shuddering breaths as he ran his fingers up along the inside of Stiles’ legs. Higher. Higher. Until his knuckles were brushing against Stiles’ clothed sack, just like when he had taken measurements. This time, though, he allowed himself to stroke his knuckles against the warm weight and feel the lithe body beneath his hands tremble. 

Stiles was hard and pressing at the front of his slacks in a way that didn’t look at all comfortable. “Maybe I shouldn’t have made these so tight,” said Derek, running one hand up to trace the straining length. 

“What did you say about removing my suit before it gets messy?” Stiles asked in a breathless voice, pitch wavering alongside his control. 

This had to be a dream, Derek thought as he worked Stiles’ belt and fly open. It was too similar to fantasies he had since meeting Stiles for it to possibly be--

Derek’s phone startled him awake, and he glared at his ceiling as soon as he realized it had, indeed, been just a dream. What was worse was that it had been interrupted just when it was really getting good. The phone continued to chime annoyingly, and it was the ringtone he’d set for Erica, so he knew there was no way he would be able to just ignore her. Heaving a sigh, he rolled over and fumbled for the phone, then answered it with a growl.

“Whatever,” Erica scoffed. “You’ll be happy I interrupted your beauty sleep.”

“How did you know I was sleeping?”

“Because it’s eleven on a work night and you’re an old man.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Fine by me. You might want to turn to NBC right now, though.”

Curious, though still somewhat annoyed, Derek tossed the phone aside and reached back to the nightstand for the remote to the flat screen mounted opposite his bed. As soon as he got it to the right station, he dropped the remote in his shock. 

It was _Stiles_. He was on some late night talk show and wearing the same suit he’d been in earlier that day. Evidently, he couldn’t make it to dinner because he had to be on TV. Well then.

“So,” prompted the host, the studio lights glinting off his smile and thoroughly-gelled hair, “it sounds like you lead a pretty hectic life.”

Stiles laughed, and it felt like it was at himself more than anything the host said. “Yeah, I do. Never thought this is what would come of me and one of my friends screwing around with programming languages, but yeah. It’s all been kind of intense.”

“I’ll bet! And during all this madness, do you ever get any time to yourself? Get to have hobbies, date, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, a bit. Though, until recently, I hadn’t really been wanting to date anyone in particular, so it was kind of moot.”

It was like the host was a shark that had just scented blood in the water. He leaned over the polished wood desk a bit, grinning his interest and arching a brow as if they were good friends. “Oh? So what’s happened _recently_?”

If they had put any make-up on Stiles, he was blushing right through it. Derek smiled fondly, wishing he could be there to feel the heat of that blush beneath his fingertips. And goddamn, but he evidently got sappy as shit when he had a crush.

“I met someone. He actually asked me out to dinner tonight, but I had to turn him down because I was coming to this.”

The host gave an exaggeratedly horrified expression for comedic purposes, getting a chorus of “awwws” from the audience. “Are you saying I got in the way of your budding love life? I am so sorry! That’s just unacceptable! Is there any way I can make it up you two?”

Stiles bit his lip before asking, “Would it be possible to give him a shout-out to help promote his shop?”

“Oh?” said the host, tilting his head. “What kind of shop does he have?”

Suddenly Stiles was rising from his seat with a huge smile and waving at himself with his hands. “He’s a designer, and this suit is an original from him. His name’s Derek Hale, and his shop is l’Echec du Loup on 77th and 3rd.”

The host let out a low whistle as he took in Stiles’ suit. “I was wondering where you got that. Your guy is pretty talented!”

Stiles fell back into his plush chair with a dopey grin that made Derek’s heart flutter. “Yeah, he’s amazing.”

Derek’s phone started beeping with a flood of text messages from Lydia. He didn’t really want to stop watching Stiles, so he ignored them for the moment. 

“And,” Stiles was saying scooting forward in his seat and looking like an eager kid, “he took me to his friend who’s a shoe designer, Vernon Boyd, and I’m gonna be getting some ridiculously awesome footwear to match up with all of my new suits. Like, seriously, Derek has helped me _so much_ with dressing like a real pro. Otherwise, I’d probably be here tonight in my best flannel and the jeans with the fewest stains.” He and the host shared a laugh.

Erica was texting him now, as well as his sister, Laura, and Isaac. Annoyed, Derek flicked his phone to silent so he could better focus on Stiles. He wondered if this show was live or if it had taped earlier that evening. If he texted Stiles now, would Stiles be able to receive it? Or maybe, if the show had been taped earlier, Stiles might even be asleep like Derek had just been. Then again, he’d probably be up to watch himself. It was a pretty big deal to be a guest on this type of show, Derek figured. 

The host complimented Stiles’ outfit some more, then cracked a few light-hearted jokes before announcing to the camera that they’ll be right back with another guest after the break. Derek used that as his cue to finally check his phone. Lydia’s texts congratulated him on getting his head out of his ass. Then informed him that she _and_ Jackson would be coming in to work tomorrow, since she suspected Stiles’ little shout-out was going to result in a surge of customers. Erica’s texts were mostly her flipping out excitedly that Boyd also got a mention, and how she thinks Derek should marry Stiles. Laura was asking why Derek didn’t tell her that he was dating a billionaire, or dating _anyone at all_. Isaac’s texts were a stream of happy, shocked exclamations. 

Instead of replying to any of them, Derek pulled up Stiles in his contacts and hesitantly typed out a text.

_That was really sweet of you. Not just for plugging me, but also Boyd. Thank you._

As soon as he sent the text he started to question it, wondering if it wasn’t enough or if it was too much. Just when he decided he should stop staring at the screen or at least reply to someone else, Stiles’ reply popped up.

**OMG you’re watching??**

_Yes. You look incredible._

**That’s because I’m in one of your suits. ;)**

Derek’s lips twitched into a little smile, and he shook his head as he typed out a reply.

_No, you were gorgeous when I met you and you were dressed like a frat boy who had crashed on someone’s couch. I’m pretty sure you’d be stunning not matter what you wore._

He hit send before he allowed himself to second guess himself, feeling his face practically burst into flames. It had been a long time since he’d talked like this with anyone, and that time had ended so horrifically that he never thought he’d be like this with anyone ever again. There had been a few relationships between then and now, but they had all been rather casual. No one had ever brought about these ridiculous, giddy feelings like Stiles did.

**I really wish we had been able to go to dinner tonight, instead of me doing that show. Jesus, that kiss…**

His little smile splitting into a full grin, Derek quickly typed a response.

_Just let me know when you’re free._

**Tomorrow?  
Or is that too desperate sounding?  
Fuck it. I don’t care. Tomorrow?**

Derek imagined Stiles’ face as he had tapped out those words on the little screen, how his eyes were likely narrowed defiantly and his jaw clenched in determination. It softened Derek’s grin and had him biting his lower lip. 

_Tomorrow sounds perfect. Shop closes at 7. See you then? Or would you rather meet up somewhere in particular?_

**I’ll do some research and find the perfect place, then text you the address. That ok?**

_Perfect place?_

**I’m going to woo the fuck out of you, Derek Hale. Prepare yourself.**

_Honestly, you don’t really need to. I’d be happy just going to McDonalds with you._  
Ok, that’s a lie, I hate fast food.  
But you get my meaning. 

**Would it be too forward to invite you to my place? Not for nefarious purposes! I’m a great cook, and it could be a nice quiet alternative to a loud restaurant…?**

For a moment Derek just stared at the screen, his heart going double time in his chest. He thought about the dream he’d been having just before Erica had called, and tried to tell himself that it was too soon for that.

_Sounds great. I’d love the chance to get to know you better._

He re-read the words after he sent them, then worried they could be read as innuendo. Then he thought about it some more and sort of hoped they _would_ be taken as innuendo.

**Awesome! So if you close up at 7, how about 8? That’ll give you time to get here, and me time to get everything ready. Oh, my address!**

Stiles then sent his address, as well as assuring that the security at the front desk would be notified of Derek’s planned arrival and let him pass without issue. 

**They’ll be able to provide you access to my floor.**

And holy shit, what kind of place did Stiles have? Though Derek supposed he really shouldn’t be surprised, considering how successful Stiles evidently was. It was still more of an abstract concept that Stiles was one of the wealthiest people in America, because he seemed so _normal_. Well, as normal as someone with his stupidly gorgeous elven face and sinfully nice hands was. 

_I look forward to seeing you then._

**Same. Good-night, Derek. :)**

_Night, Stiles._

\--- 

Lydia had been right.

The usually dead store was virtually flooded with people. Not everyone was there to buy a suit, because not everyone could really afford one. Even so, there was still a shockingly large number of people ordering at least one suit from the current line, and most customers were leaving with at least a dress shirt. 

Jackson handled the measurements while Lydia assisted customers with customizing the perfect look for them. Derek remained mostly at the register, ringing up purchases, inputting new orders, and fielding questions about how to get a one-of-a-kind suit designed like how Stiles had gotten. Eventually Derek found it was easiest to just half-lie and say that Stiles got special suits because they were involved, and it wasn’t something Derek typically offered. 

By closing time, Lydia was having to gently but firmly herd people out of the shop, and Isaac was calling to freak out over the bogglingly huge amount of orders that were on his computer screen. “Hire on a larger crew if needed,” Derek explained with a calm, soothing voice, trying to settle Isaac’s panic. “We’ll have more than enough from today’s sales to cover the extra help. Just email me how many, what each one’s job is, and how much I’ll need to write their paychecks for. Make sure you get them to fill out all the proper tax forms.”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Isaac said, taking slow breaths. “Sorry, it’s just I’ve never seen this many orders come through at one time.”

“It’ll probably be the same for a while,” mused Derek. “At least until people get distracted by the next new, shiny thing.”

Isaac clucked his tongue. “Don’t say that. I think you’re right in that this is only the beginning, but I don’t think it’ll just peter out in a few weeks. You design amazing things, and people are finally going to get to see that.”

“Maybe…”

“You’ll see. Soon I’ll be hiring even more people just to keep up with the demand.”

The very thought made Derek duck his head and smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am. Now, I gotta go. Not only do I have to start the team on these new orders, but I have to figure out where to find more workers.”

“Alright, take care.” He hung up and lifted his head to watch Lydia lock the door behind the last customer (who really just wanted to look around and not actually buy anything, like many other curious looky-loos that day). She turned to him with a tired but happy smile and raised both her eyebrows in a silent I-told-you-so.

Jackson groaned, “Finally. Jesus. If I have to feel up one more dude, I fucking swear.”

“You’re right,” chirped Lydia, smiling innocently at him and shrugging. “Tomorrow _I’ll_ do measurements.”

The thought of his girlfriend running her hands all over random guys and getting on her knees in front of them must have shorted out Jackson’s brain in jealous rage, because all he could do was stare blankly at her for a moment. Then in the next, he was sneering. “Like hell you will. Those pervs aren’t getting the chance to have you that close to them.”

Looking smugly triumphant, Lydia flicked back her wavy hair and strutted her way up to the checkout counter. “You,” she said, pointing at Derek, her expensive manicure glinting pink-white-gold in the shop’s light, “need to get out of here and get ready for your hot date.” She lowered her hand and her smile turned warm. “We’ll handle all the closing procedures, don’t worry.”

No matter how exhausting the day had been, Derek felt a surge of renewed energy wash over him at the realization that he’d be seeing Stiles again soon. Thanking Lydia and Jackson, Derek darted into the back to gather his things, before finally ducking out the back door. Stiles’ building wasn’t too far from the shop, so he headed that way at a brisk walk. Then he paused and realized he’d probably get there really early, since it was only just a little after seven. Also, maybe he should change first? A suit was perhaps a little too formal for going to someone’s house, wasn’t it?

Quickly changing course, Derek headed to his own apartment. He was there in under five minutes, and made a beeline for the closet as soon as he was in the door. After choosing a snug yet comfy burgundy henley and a pair of black jeans he knew displayed his ass perfectly, he grabbed a bottle of wine and headed back out to try his trek to Stiles’ once again. 

He shot Stiles a quick text to let him know he was on his way, and received a **:D !!!!** that strangely had him smiling like an idiot for the entire walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...


End file.
